Fight Club
by HakunaMatatata
Summary: The first rule of fight club, is you never talk about fight club. Mark/Addison become adulterers, fall in love, fight quite a bit, and are just cute and sexy. Fluff, fluff, fluff, with the slightest angst.


A/N: Okay... I just axed my other story... I really don't know where its going... but this I've already written three out of eight chapters so... yeah. And Maddison is my favorite.

**1st RULE:** You do not talk about FIGHT CLUB.

There were no rules, no boundaries… in fact, nothing was ever said explicitly. All Addison knew, was that once a week, usually on Fridays, (her husband's favorite surgery night, she thinks it's stupid how he equates surgery to party night), she'd head over to Mark's and they'd have a quick romp in the sack and be on their own ways.

But then there was explicitness. Then one day, on her way out of his bed, he'd tugged on her arm and pulled her back and she hadn't resisted. He had wrapped his arms securely around her shoulders and kissed her hair and right then and there, asked her, the _married_ her, she might add, out on a date. And her, being the foolish teenager she was around him, blushed and agreed.

He'd arrived at her door to 'escort' her back to his apartment and she'd giggled and taken his arm, knowing that being intercepted by Derek wasn't even a possibility. Derek was never home. Derek was never even _near_ home.

"You look beautiful." He said, and kissed her on the cheek, entwining his fingers with hers, and she'd been so _lost_ so unfamiliar with this version of Mark that she'd been lead away senselessly. He grinned at her bewildered look and she wrinkled her nose.

"We're doing this kinda backwards." She informs him and he laughs.

"Oh Addie." He kisses her nose, causing her bewilderment to grow, "It's not even backwards anymore… It's definitely inside-out."

"Or like…" she pauses to ponder a bit and he slows to match her pace, "a completely different vortex."

And he laughs at her, "Who knew Addison Forbes was a nerd?"

She makes a disgusted face at the use of her middle name, "Did I say you could call me that?"

Mark shrugged, "No. It fit at the time."

"Well…" she says, pouting a little, "No more."

He nods and agrees, "No more."

When they get to the apartment Mark opens the door and offers to take her coat, and she smirks a little, commenting, "Is this a part of the Mark Sloan experience?"

He laughs, "No. If you wanted the real Mark Sloan experience, it would involve the two of us sitting on the couch with beer, watching a Knicks game, and listening to the _Jimi Hendrix_ Experience."

"Well… That doesn't sound half-bad." She frowns as she says it and he laughs, "Sure Addie."

"Seriously!" she protests, "We should sometime."

"Sometime." He winks at her, "Not tonight though, tonight I cooked."

Her eyes widened in shock and she teased him lightly, "Should I be worried?"

"Hey!" He protested, pulling out a chair for her, "I can cook."

"I'm sure you can." She says laughing, "But is it edible?"

"Stay there." He says, grinning and then disappeared into the kitchen and reemerged carrying a tray of steaming pasta, white sauce and chicken lined on-top of it.

"You did not make this!" She exclaimed in disbelief and he looked a little sheepish, "Okay… No I didn't." he says as she hits him slightly and giggles, "But I know the owner of the best Italian in the city and we talked." He explained.

"I knew it." She says, serving him and then herself and pouring the wine.

He chuckled, "I should have known _you _would figure it out."

"Damn right you should have."

The conversation flows surprisingly smoothly, she equates it to the butter he spreads on his bread, it glides gracefully, never awkward. He makes her laugh, she makes him think and they make each other comfortable. Except right when she'd settled, the conversation took an awkward turn.

"When are you going to leave him?" he asks, he slips it in secretly, pouring it out with her wine.

She freezes, "Leave who?"

He studies her quizzically, "Derek." He says, "You knew who I was talking about."

"I'm not leaving Derek." She says, shaking her head.

"Addison!" he exclaims and then takes a deep breath, "Addison." He repeats, calmer, "He's not here anymore… Not like you knew him. Not the Derek either of us knew."

"He's been busy…" she stammers out, "He's a brain surgeon."

"Even brain surgery is not 24/7… When's the last time you saw him awake?" He takes her silence as the answer.

"Please, Addison…" he resorts to begging, "Do what's best for everyone…"

Still she shakes her head, "He's my husband Mark, we're just going through a tough spell."

He draws away sharply, "So that's what this is? That's what we are? I'm the comfort food that you use to get through your 'tough spell.'"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" she asks him, and he resents her just a little bit, because he knows what she's really asking, what she really means is, 'well aren't you a man-whore?'

"I want more Addie." He kneels in-front of her now, "I want more than to be your easy lay, I want to be more than your continuous one-night-stand."

"I can't… Mark." Tears are welling up in her eyes and she shoves his hands away from hers. "I can't Mark… I'm sorry." And with those words, she steps out of his apartment.

She runs home, hoping against hope that it doesn't rain and thanking God that she gets her wish. When she slams the door of her brownstone behind her with a sigh of relief, Derek's voice startles her, "Where were you?" he smiles at her curiously.

"Just out." She says, and then forcing a smile onto her face asks, "How was your day?"


End file.
